


dream lover

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American AU, Bisexual Harry, Dirty Talk, F/F, Flirting, Harry is Carole, Louis is Bethenny, Real Housewives of New York AU, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: “Well,” Harry says, running a fingertip along the rim of her glass and looking up at Louis through her lashes. “It’s the funniest thing, actually. I had a sex dream about you last night.”Louis’ eyebrows shoot up and her lips go slack, but she recovers quickly, hamming up the shocked expression for the cameras. Even in the midst of this careful dance they’re doing, she’s always a consummate professional.“Really?” she asks excitedly, gesturing between the two of them. “What are we talking about here, like the real deal? Downtown Julie Brown?”A Real Housewives of New York AU.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 99





	dream lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homosociallyyours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEGAN!!!!!!! I know that birthdays can be weird and complicated and hard to celebrate sometimes, and I just wanted to do something, from me to you, so you know that I am so happy to have you as a friend, my fellow Eileen!!

“Hi, hi, sorry, I’m sorry, I know, I’m late, there was a thing and now I’m– no, no, it’s fine, I’m here, let’s get rolling.”

Harry sits wordlessly at the table, admiring the whirlwind that is Louis Tomlinson arriving late for filming. One of the assistants mics her while Louis and her main producer speak in hushed tones about the expectations for this scene before Louis will exit the restaurant and reenter – on camera this time. Harry bites her lip to suppress a smile; even after two years, the mechanics of reality TV just seem so silly at times. 

She’d been a total babe in the woods in her first season, having no idea about how things in this world actually worked. It had been a sharp learning curve; many of her co-stars were veterans who tended to take things a bit more seriously than Harry did. Well, that’s putting it mildly – they tended to take _themselves_ a bit more seriously than Harry did. But she’d found something to love about most of the women, and focused on their good qualities. For the most part, she got along well with them, especially now that Ben Winston, a woman who’d tried to start a feud with her in order to stay on the show, had been fired.

But then there was Louis. She had been an original cast member of the _Real Housewives of New York,_ and the show’s clear breakout star. She’d left after a few seasons with a spinoff, a huge branding deal, and a new husband and baby. This was all before Harry’s time, back when she’d been mostly blissfully unaware of the franchise that would later have such an impact on her life, but even she had heard of Louis Tomlinson and her myriad accomplishments.

Harry had never expected to meet her, let alone film with her, but life had knocked Louis off of her high pedestal in the last few years. First there was the cancelled talk show, and then the ongoing acrimonious divorce and custody battle. It had been a shock to all the women when Louis had accepted the network’s offer to come back to the show, but not all that surprising when Harry had actually thought about it. She’d returned with her head held high to a world where she knows the ins and outs, and how to make them work to her advantage.

It’s been a few months since filming for the latest season started, and Harry still barely knows Louis. She usually arrives late to filming, unintentionally cutting time for small talk short, and then leaves most events early to be with her daughter. The fact that Louis is juggling probably too many things at once is apparent to everyone, and Harry is more understanding than some. After all, she knows what it’s like when the bottom falls out. 

Harry’s reinvented her life several times now that she’s in her late 40s. As a young woman, she’d left small town life for a career in journalism in the big city, and had traveled all over the world for years. She’d married her favorite coworker, a man who’d been born into the displaced Polish royal family – and who, as a Kennedy cousin, had been born into American royalty as well. When he’d died five years later, Harry had flown the coop to London for a few years, needing to be somewhere she could just breathe. And when she’d come back to New York, she’d transitioned to working as a freelance writer in the print magazine industry, mostly interviews and as highbrow as she could manage. 

Watching Louis bustle through the restaurant toward the door and walk outside a few paces before turning around with her game face on as a cameraman films her walkup, Harry thinks for the hundredth time about how she gets it: Louis is under a lot of pressure. If only Louis could just relax a little, enjoy the frivolous and fun side of their job. Maybe tonight, Harry muses. With her. Just wait until Louis hears what she has to tell her. She hasn’t even given her producer a head’s up, hoping to hold onto the element of surprise.

Harry straightens up in her seat, putting her own game face on for the camera, as Louis approaches their table. 

“Hi, hi,” Louis says, leaning over the table to air kiss Harry’s cheek before settling across from her. “How are you?”

It’s unnerving to have Louis’ sharp gaze, her undivided attention, on you. Harry’s still not used to it.

“Good,” she mumbles, catching a producer’s frown out of the corner of her eye. She clears her throat and tries again. “Good! I’m good, how are you?”

“Fantastic. Have you been here before? What’s good?” 

Louis studies her menu and Harry struggles to remember what appetizer she’d been eyeing while she waited for Louis to arrive.

“Calamari?” Louis looks up but doesn’t wait for Harry’s answer before looking around for a waiter. “Oh, come on, where are these guys? Would you look at this, no one’s working.”

“I’m sure he’ll be by in a minute,” Harry says, reaching for her water glass.

Louis glances over. “Oh, so he’s been here already? For the water? That’s good, that’s good, we’ve got a chance, then, alright.”

It takes less than a minute for their server to notice Louis’ impatient glare, and he hustles over to take their order.

“Calamari to start, for the table,” Louis clips, eyes on her menu. “What are you drinking?” She looks up and points to Harry. “Wine? You want wine? You want to do a Sauvignon Blanc?”

“We also have an excellent Pinot Gri–”

“Ugh, god,” Louis wails, throwing her head back. “Please, Harry, don’t tell me you’re ordering Pinot Grigio, I can’t have another Nick on my hands. One is enough. One is too much, frankly.”

Harry can’t help but laugh at the not so subtle dig at one of their co-stars, a woman who needs a glass of Pinot Grigio in hand at all times and had gone so far as to start her own line of wine so it would always be in supply for her.

“No, no,” she says, still giggling. “Sauvignon Blanc, please.”

“That’s two, my good man,” Louis says to the server, setting her menu aside. “Thank you.”

Louis rubs her hands together and focuses her sharp blue eyes on Harry again.

“So what’s up, what’s been going on with you, how are you?”

Harry blinks a few times, trying to process Louis’ rapid-fire questions. She has a tendency to speak slowly – to ramble, really – and this job has helped her cut down on the pauses and filler words, but she still struggles to keep up with Louis.

“Well, you know it’s Taurus season,” Harry starts, warming up to the topic she really wants to discuss.

“Taurus season? What the hell is that?” Louis laughs, not unkindly. “Seriously, what is that? Is that real? Is that like a zodiac thing? Are you a zodiac person, how did I not know this about you?”

Louis may be a little intimidating, but Harry finds she enjoys rising to the challenge. She laughs, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table.

“It is real,” she says, “and I’ll tell you what it is, you just have to give me a chance to talk.”

“Oh,” Louis says, sitting back and widening her eyes in surprise. She looks Harry up and down. “We’ve got a live one! Okay, I’m all ears, tell me what– what the hell is it again? Taurus season?”

The server chooses that moment to deliver their wine, and Harry takes a sip after thanking him. She’d never tell Nick, at least not on camera when it could affect Nick’s brand, but she really does prefer Sauvignon Blanc to Pinot Grigio.

“Okay,” she says, smiling at an impressed-looking Louis. For all of her bluster, Harry knows that Louis respects people who can hold their own with her. “Taurus season.”

“Yes, that, what is that?”

“It started a few weeks ago,” Harry explains. “I mean, you know all of the signs, right? Like you, you’re a Capricorn. Well, your sun sign is Capricorn–”

“You’re losing me, Styles,” Louis interrupts, lifting her wine glass. “Back to the season, we gotta get back to the season thing, explain that.”

“You are so tightly wound,” Harry remarks with a smile. “I’m getting there.”

After taking a sip, Louis raises her glass toward Harry. “Cheers. Proceed.”

“So there’s a season for each sign, and if your birthdate is in a certain season, then that’s your sun sign. Right now, babies who are born are Tauruses – it’s Taurus season.” 

“Oh. _Oh,”_ Louis says, her eyes lighting up. “My peanut’s birthday was a few days ago, she’s a Taurus. I didn’t think of that when you started rambling.”

Harry bites her lip. It’s just so sweet when Louis talks about her daughter, almost never by name, always “Peanut” or “my peanut.”

“Right, okay,” Harry continues. “So you know how there are characteristics for each sign? It’s kind of the same with the season, there are, you know, moods to go along with each one.”

“Yeah? Okay, so what’s the ‘mood’ for right now? Like everyone’s going to be extra stubborn or something?”

“I take it Peanut is on the stubborn side?” Harry asks, not bothering to contain her grin.

“Like you would not believe,” Louis declares, waving her hand. “Five years old and ready for world domination, can you believe it?”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Harry replies, tapping her chin. “So, yeah, I can believe it.” 

They laugh, and just then the server returns with their appetizer and a couple of small plates.

“Anything else I can get for you, ladies?”

“Not yet, but don’t go far,” Louis says, earning a quick bow from the server before he makes a hasty exit.

“I don’t think he knew you were kidding,” Harry says dryly, looking after him.

“You know what, I’m not for everyone,” Louis says, dividing food between their small plates. “What are you gonna do? What were we talking about?”

“Oh yes! The mood for Taurus season.”

Louis rolls her eyes, looking to the ceiling with a smile. “Oh, yes, the ‘mood.’ What are you waiting for, lay it on me.”

“Well, first of all, you’re actually right about the stubborn thing,” Harry says after taking a bite of food and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s a good time to be stubborn, take no shit.”

“Sold,” Louis says loudly, as if to announce to the entire restaurant. “Definitely sold.”

“I was trying to tell you,” Harry laughs. “You just have to listen.”

“Fair point, very fair, I’ll give you that. What else? There’s more right, there’s gotta be more.”

“It’s just a good time for that energy of, like, you know who you are, you know what you’re about, and no one gets to boss you around or tell you what to do. So it’s Taurus season for you all year round, and for the rest of us, a few weeks in the spring.”

Harry can practically see the gears turning in Louis’ head, knows she’s about to clap back with a trademark witty, acerbic remark. So she heads her off at the pass.

“It’s also a season of pleasure.”

In Harry’s limited experience with her, there are few things that render Louis speechless. But she just so happens to have found one; Louis sits across from her, gaping like a goldfish for a few moments as Harry sits back in her chair, satisfied. 

Louis gives her another once-over, her thin, painted red lips pressed together as she quickly reassesses her. Harry levels a gaze right back at her, determined to show Louis that she’s not ruffled. After all, Louis may have conquered the business world, but she doesn’t have a monopoly on being stubborn.

“Pleasure,” Louis repeats, raising her eyebrows.

Harry takes it as the challenge she thinks is intended and nods. “Pleasure.”

“We’re gonna need more wine,” Louis says, waving the server over. “Hi, hello, how are you, did you know this is a season of pleasure? No? Not really? Yeah, me either. We’re gonna need a bottle of the Sauv Blanc, please and thank you.” She looks back to Harry. “Okay, out with it, look at you, you’re dying to elaborate, I can tell. So? Pleasure. Go.”

“Taurus is ruled by Venus,” Harry says, watching as Louis drains her glass of wine without breaking eye contact. “It’s the planet of love, money, and pleasure. So the season is about the pleasure we feel, whether that’s the satisfaction of really good food or wine, or wearing fabrics that feel good against your skin. Enjoying a hot bath or an afternoon nap. Or…”

“Or,” Louis repeats, reaching for the wine bottle that the server brings over without looking at him. “Or?”

“Or sexual pleasure,” Harry finishes airily, as though she doesn’t feel the tension between them.

Despite their limited interaction, there have been a few moments since filming began where Harry’s picked up on a certain… chemistry between the two of them. The little crackle of excitement in the air when Louis teases her for rambling or killing every joke she tries to tell. The way their eyes find each other when one of the ladies says something particularly outrageous or tone deaf. Once, a lingering kiss on her actual cheek instead of the typical air kisses of this world. It’s different from her chemistry with the other women, whatever x factor it is that translates on camera to make their show so successful. No, the frisson of excitement she feels with Louis is different, familiar but also rare; Harry can count on one hand the amount of times she’s felt it before, and one of those times was her husband. 

There’s been an air of plausible deniability, though – not enough to make Harry think she’s imagining something between them, but enough to keep her at bay, to stop her from making more direct overtures. So she’s kept it light, just fun and playful, but this is their first scene together alone. And she has the perfect topic to test the invisible boundary that she thinks Louis has set, to see if it’s firm or flexible. 

If it’s the former, no harm done. Getting involved with a castmate has potential for disaster, both public and private. She can only imagine the looks on the other ladies’ faces; they haven’t picked up on the fact that Harry is bisexual even though she’s never tried to hide it. The editors carefully remove any reference to it on the show, too, which is the one thing that makes her hesitate each year when it’s time to sign her contract. She can handle the heightened emotions, the dinner parties where they never manage to finish their meals, the exhausting “vacations” they take together. That’s part and parcel of the job. And to an extent, so is showing only certain facets of her life. But there’s nothing in those contracts requiring her to keep her sexuality a secret, so she does her best to be out and proud in her real life, as well as highlight causes she cares about on her social media. Despite its limitations, this job has given her a voice that she’s never really had before. 

Louis waves the server back over to order the chef’s special for both of them, not bothering to check first with Harry, which is fine with her. She’s more interested in the company than the food, and the possibility of the latter option. The flexible one. 

“So. Harry.” Louis gives her an appraising look. “How are you… celebrating? Taurus season?”

A thrill zips up Harry’s spine. Louis is teasing her. Trying to rile her up. She wants to see if Harry will back down first. Well, if that’s what Louis hopes, she’s about to be sorely mistaken.

“Well,” Harry says, running a fingertip along the rim of her glass and looking up at Louis through her lashes. “It’s the funniest thing, actually. I had a sex dream about you last night.” 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up and her lips go slack, but she recovers quickly, hamming up the shocked expression for the cameras. Even in the midst of this careful dance they’re doing, she’s always a consummate professional.

“Really?” she asks excitedly, gesturing between the two of them. “What are we talking about here, like the real deal? Downtown Julie Brown?” 

Harry slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle the bark of laughter that escapes her.

“Louis!” 

“Just trying to get an accurate picture,” Louis exclaims, holding her hands up as in defense. Her blue eyes sparkle mischievously, and Harry decides to answer her questions. 

In detail.

“I don’t remember exactly how it started,” she says, noting how Louis perks up at the fact that Harry’s seeing this through. “But we were… well, at first, we were kissing.”

“Kissing, okay, got it, love a good makeout sesh. What next?”

“Well, you kept doing that,” Harry says, waving a hand at Louis. “That whole tightly wound thing you’ve got going on. I mean you didn’t say ‘what next’ in the dream, but you might as well have.”

Louis hums in understanding. “So you – in the dream, that is – what? Had to… unwind me? Make me relax?”

“Easier said than done,” Harry sighs. “It’s hazy, but I remember you would not stop talking. Finally, I had to – in the dream, of course – tie you up.”

Harry can see her producer out of the shot, waving his hands over his head and mouthing “no” at her. And maybe there’s a part of her that feels bad that none of this footage will be usable. But there’s a spark in Louis’ eye that she can’t ignore. 

“Really?” Louis shrugs. “I guess I would have thought it would be the other way around.”

Harry chokes on her wine. If she’s honest, that’s how she would have preferred it too.

“So,” Louis says, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with the knowledge that she got the upper hand. “You tied me up. What are we talking about here, like–”

“Hands tied to the headboard,” Harry explains before she has to stop and cough. She pats her fist against her chest. Once she’s caught her breath, she holds her hands up. “Like this, shoulder width apart. I used that scarf you wore–”

“The Hermes from Niall’s party last week? Nice choice.” Louis nods in approval. “What then?”

“Well, then I kissed you some more,” Harry says calmly, even though her heart is racing. “But I could tell you were still all in your head, so I tried giving you a hickey, to see if that would help you relax.”

“A hickey?” Louis exclaims. “Does anyone still give hickeys anymore?”

“I love hickeys! They’re totally underrated, I always ask for them if my partner doesn’t give me any.”

“That’s hysterical,” Louis remarks, leaning away from the table as their server tries to unobtrusively set their plates down. “You’re hysterical, I can’t believe this. What else, what’s your next move?” 

Harry murmurs “thank you” to the terrified server and looks down at her plate. Her appetite for food isn’t quite as strong as her appetite for Louis, but the caesar salad with salmon that the young man just dropped off actually looks really good. She takes her time cutting a small piece of fish to lift to her mouth, making eye contact with Louis as she sticks her tongue out first.

Louis just barely gulps, her throat contracting as Harry remembers the dark purple mark she’d left there. In her dream.

“After this spot, just here,” she continues, pressing a fingertip against her throat, “was nice and dark, I… you don’t really want to hear this, do you?”

“No, no, you can’t start and then not finish! You’re giving me blue balls over here, tell me what happened next, you hickey-loving weirdo.”

“Well, you still had your bra on,” Harry confesses, more to her plate than to Louis. She chances a look up. “But the clasp was in the front.”

“What color? Just so I get the whole–” Louis waves her hand around “–visual.”

“Black.”

“Classic,” Louis says, nodding and taking a bite of food. “So you…”

“I undid the clasp and…” 

And Louis’ ample breasts had spilled out, the lightly tanned, golden skin capped by rosebud pink nipples that Harry hadn’t been able to resist, immediately sucking one into her mouth as she caressed Louis’ warm skin with her hands. As the images flood her mind, Harry realizes that she’s wet. When she looks up at Louis’ triumphant face, she can tell that Louis has realized it, too. 

Harry had no idea when she started this little game just how perfectly it would all turn out. 

She sets her fork down and looks Louis in the eye. “Your breasts – which I imagine are amazing, by the way – spilled out of your bra and I started playing with your nipples. I couldn’t help it, I had to get my mouth on you.”

At this point, both cameramen lower their cameras and one of the producers starts whisper yelling into his phone as the other chews antacids. Safe to say that Harry’s ruined their night of filming. The rest of the crew wanders away and Louis winks at her.

“What did you do next? And my tits are amazing, by the way.” 

“I bet they are,” Harry murmurs. “I kept at it for what felt like hours, never got tired of playing with them, not with the sounds you were making.”

“Oh, so your plan worked, then. You got me to unwind? What kinds of sounds was I making?”

“At first you were whimpering,” Harry whispers, forcing Louis to lean in to hear her, “like you were trying to be quiet, but then you just… let go. You kept moaning, low in your throat, and then every once in awhile you’d gasp, like these little choked-off moans. It was fucking amazing. You were fucking amazing.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the fucking yet, Harold,” Louis tsks, drumming her fingers on the table. “Don’t you want to tell me that part? Or did you get so distracted by these?”

Louis runs her fingertip down the neckline of her fitted black blazer that Harry is only now realizing she’s worn over a lacy black bra. 

Harry bites her lip. Fuck. “No, I… I was distracted, but not too distracted to…”

“Fuck me?”

Harry nods, biting her lip so hard that she’s afraid it might bleed.

Louis parts her lips, but before she can say anything, her producer James appears at her side. His normally jovial face is solemn and there are beads of sweat on his forehead.

He crouches down beside Louis’ chair. “Lou, you’re killing me here. I’m not getting anything, and you know–”

Louis cuts him off with a pat to his shoulder. “James, baby, you’re so tense. Look at you, you’re about to have a heart attack over one little dinner scene, like you haven’t left dozens of these on the cutting room floor. Don’t bullshit me.”

Louis is right, and Harry can tell from his face that James knows it. And that he knows Louis knows it. When he glances toward her, Harry offers him an apologetic smile.

“You need to unwind, man,” Louis declares. “Tell you what, you and the fellas go have a drink at the bar, on me, and then I promise, Harry and I will give you, what? An hour? An hour of something usable. On my honor.” 

James nods wordlessly, straightening up and walking over to the bar, waving for the crew to join him.

“Now, then. Harry.” Louis lifts an eyebrow. “Where were we? Oh, right, you were… distracted. By my breasts.”

And Harry can’t help it, she drops her gaze to Louis’ chest again, admiring the swell of her cleavage and wishing that her dream had been reality. That it could be reality. She thinks she’s got a shot, that she’s reading the situation correctly, but one never really knows with Louis Tomlinson – that is, until she wants you to know. She’s a force of nature, a hurricane, always moving, always working. And Harry loves that about her, doesn’t want to change her, but this is her chance to get Louis to slow down, just for a night. 

“Can you blame me?” Harry asks, her voice low and husky to her own ears. She gestures toward Louis. “They’re very… distracting.”

“You’re one to talk,” Louis scoffs goodnaturedly. “Have you ever buttoned a blouse up more than halfway? I am intimately familiar with your sternum, which is a sentence I never anticipated speaking aloud. You make me…”

“I make you what?” Harry asks, leaning forward. “I make you what, Louis?”

“You make me crazy,” Louis admits, running a hand through her long caramel brown hair. “Like absolutely fucking crazy, tits out every time I see you, like you’re _trying_ to–”

“I am,” Harry says urgently. “I am, I just wasn’t sure if you… if that’s what you wanted.”

“That’s what I’ve wanted since the first moment I saw you,” Louis sighs. “I just didn’t realize what it was at first. I’m not like you, Harry, I don’t have everything figured out, I didn’t even realize that women were… a possibility. For me. Because I’ve been thinking about it, and I just don’t know. But I think it’s only been you. Or maybe it’s just that this is the first time I’ve let myself think that way, I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out, Lou,” Harry says, reaching out to lay her hand over Louis’ on the table. “I don’t have everything figured out either. I just… There’s something here, right? I’m not alone in this, whatever this is?”

“You’re not alone,” Louis says, turning her hand over so that Harry can hold it. “But my life is a goddamn mess right now, I don’t know what I can even think about offering another person, and the fact that you’re a woman and, oh my god, you’re on the _show,_ I just… I’m so tired. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know? Every person I meet, it’s all about what I can do for them, what they can get out of me–”

“I don’t need anything from you, Louis,” Harry says quietly. “I’m very happy for your success, but if I’m honest, I don’t care about all that. I can manage just fine on my own, the way I have been for the last twenty years. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you.” 

It’s like Harry’s words have a physical effect on Louis, she can practically see them settling over her as the tension leaves her shoulders and the pinched, worried look on her face relaxes into something girlish and coy.

“You never finished telling me about your dream,” she purrs, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Or…”

“Or?”

“Or did you want to… show me? Later? I don’t have my daughter tonight, you could come over. If you wanted.”

“Oh, believe me, I want to,” Harry assures her. “I want to show you how wet I am just thinking about being with you, thinking about tracing the folds of your pussy with my tongue, making you writhe and arch your back until you can’t stand it anymore and start riding my face–”

The sound of James clapping his hands together interrupts Harry’s fantasy – because her dream had been hazy, she doesn’t remember fucking Louis with that much detail, but it has been something she’s imagined countless times since she’s met her – and they jolt apart. 

“Okay, ladies, I believe I’ve been promised an hour of usable footage, yes?” James checks his watch and then casts his eye around the emptying restaurant. “We’ll just have the waiter – where the fuck is he – clear your plates and bring them back out, okay? Right, okay, back to one, everyone! Let’s go!”

There’s a flurry of activity around them as the crew takes their places and their server whisks their plates away, but Harry and Louis can’t take their eyes off each other.

“Hey,” Harry whispers. “I just want you to know that we don’t have to rush anything. I mean, I’m dying to fuck you into the mattress, but as far as having everything figured out? We can just take that part slow. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay, we’re rolling!” James announces. “Give me something I can use, Lou, come on.”

“So, Harry,” Louis starts, her blue eyes sparkling. “Have you been here before? What’s good? What do you want?”

Harry mouths “you” and winks, and Louis lets out a peal of delighted laughter. 

“I was thinking chef’s special,” Louis says, (almost) always the consummate professional. “Now who do I have to screw around here to order?”

Harry laughs, a loud, strangled bark of a noise that literally turns heads. The server comes over and pretends to take their order again, his hands shaking as he scribbles something in his notepad. 

“So what’s up, what’s been going on with you, how are you?”

“Well, you know it’s Taurus season,” Harry starts, unable to keep the grin off of her face. 

“Whatever the hell that is,” Louis quips, grinning right back at her. She picks up a piece of bread from the basket on the side of the table, breaking a hunk off of it. “So. Are you going to Nick’s thing next week? What is she doing again, another skin care launch party? What is it with her and skin care, she’s obsessed.”

The conversation continues in the same vein for the rest of the night, Louis trying to keep Harry on track but obviously amused at her attempts to distract and flirt with her. James keeps wiping sweat from his forehead in the corner, but Harry’s confident they’ll be able to cut something to set up a scene at Nick’s party. If they even need to, who knows what the other women are filming that’s not on Harry’s call sheet for the week.

Once the cameras are down and the bill has been paid, Harry stands and picks up her clutch. Louis is at her side before she even notices her get up, and she whispers in Harry’s ear, “Someone has been very naughty.”

Harry gulps. Maybe if she plays her cards right, Louis won’t be the one being tied up tonight.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Why don’t you come with me, dream lover,” Louis says lowly, resting her hand on Harry’s waist. “And we’ll see how much of your dream we can make reality?” 

**Author's Note:**

> [ fic post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/618034706118836224/dream-lover-by-disgruntledkittenface-5k)


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